


I Follow Him

by CeNedraRiva



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel Feels, Castiel has faith in Dean, Episode: s11e22 We Happy Few, First Kiss, Gen, M/M, Post-Finale, Protective Castiel, Supportive Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:09:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6925282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeNedraRiva/pseuds/CeNedraRiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God's plan didn't work. Amara was strong, too strong, and the universe began to fade. It was the End.<br/>Dean stepped forwards to shelter what was left of their team, the last defiant flame before the Darkness. Castiel followed, because he couldn't stand to watch that light go out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Follow Him

Winning against Amara had been completely unexpected, in all honesty. After seeing Chuck – God himself – reduced to nothing but a fading light, feeling Lucifer burned out in seconds, any hope that two humans and one quasi-angel could present more than a momentary blip on Amara’s radar was worn out.

Castiel had woken to Dean’s hands, Dean’s voice quiet and desperate. Dazed, Castiel found Dean’s eyes bright with relief. They had shared a moment, ragged survivors of Amara’s battlefield, bound by the despair of losing a Father, of losing the last hope. But Castiel saw a spark, some last speck of defiance within Dean’s eyes, and so he put aside despair.

Dean had herded them all to the Impala, of course, even an exhausted Rowena and comatose Chuck. Crowley was missing, his vessel empty, but they brought it too. Together they’d retreated, following Dean’s urge to shelter and recover, avoiding the compromised Bunker despite the illusion of safety it offered. It was the end of the universe. There was no escaping it, especially when it was broadcast across every news network.

Castiel followed Dean. They all did. It was all that was left, drifting, searching for a better way to spend the End than sitting quietly and waiting. The angels sang out their grief across Heaven, demons revelled in the chaos. Humanity was ripping itself apart in the panic.

Castiel, Dean, Sam, Rowena. They were all that was left, the only ones active, the only ones fighting, following Dean’s lead. Who else would bother resisting, when even God could not defeat Amara? No one of their small group believed their efforts would work, but still they planned, they fought. It was better than waiting.

Rowena was only present because they were her best shot at surviving. With the strongest witches dead, she had no other escape, and no deal with Amara. The Winchesters were her last, slim hope, but something in her seemed broken. Repellent as Castiel found her, there was something wrong with seeing Rowena despondent, quiet.

Sam was worse. He had truly believed in God’s plan, trusted it all to work out. He willingly sacrificed himself to it, and it failed. What was one human to do when the single entity they had invested all their hopes, their dreams and their last efforts into supporting was unable to defeat the final evil? There was no back-up plan, no follow-up. The only being as strong as the Darkness was crippled, dying. The appearance of Chuck unconscious – human – was disturbing on a fundamental level of Castiel’s being, but Sam seemed almost in disbelief, alternating between irrational arguments about healing Chuck and heavy silences.

Castiel had no hope they would win, not really, but he knew he wasn’t struck as deeply by the realisation as the rest of the team. They were resisting, and that was good. He didn’t feel lost, adrift as the world faded, or helpless before the End. Perhaps he’d never had faith that Chuck would win, never truly believed Lucifer to be strong enough. Their loss wasn’t a shock to him, the way it was to the others. It felt like more than simply lack of faith, though, more than going through the motions.

Dean led them, and they followed. Castiel followed. It didn’t feel mechanical, warding each motel room against Amara’s gaze. It didn’t feel pointless, guarding their listless allies as they slept. He saw as Dean began to buckle under the weight of leading. Dragged back by Sam’s apathy, split open by Rowena’s bitterness. So Castiel stepped closer.

Dean gave them purpose, in these last days. He led them, protected them, struggled desperately to save them. To save everyone. Castiel could not let him fall. Would never let him fall. It went against his very being. Dean needed his support, his belief, and Castiel gladly gave it. Anything for Dean, to keep the spark alight, to keep him strong.

Castiel had no hope for victory, but if anyone could succeed against Amara it was Dean Winchester. Hopeless situations were, in his opinion, a specialty of Dean’s. Who better to take down the biggest, strongest destructive force in all creation than a Hunter? God’s Chosen Hunter? Dean spent his entire life fighting enemies that were stronger, faster, and magically powerful – many humans would call that hopeless. Hunters outsmarted their targets. The Men of Letters outsmarted their enemies. Hopeless did not mean impossible.

Castiel followed. Dean was family. Dean loved him, and Castiel loved him dearly. Even hopeless, his faith was with Dean. He followed, shepherding the others into following as well. He stood by Dean as he spoke, caught him when he stumbled. Smoothed the edges when Dean wanted to crack. He loved Dean. Castiel was Dean’s family. Dean didn’t accept the End, so neither did Castiel. He would fight. They would all fight.

And they won.

Amara fell.

It was completely unexpected. But in Castiel’s opinion it was also completely unsurprising. Hopeless did not mean impossible, and Dean was a specialist at defeating impossible enemies.

The world continued, past the End. Castiel stood beside Dean as they watched the sun rise, golden and normal. Dean tangled their fingers, leaning against his shoulder. Castiel kissed his cheek, tasting Dean’s blush. Dean smiled.

Castiel’s faith lay with Dean, always, past hope and rationality.

Dean kissed him in the dawn light, his soul singing with joy. Castiel’s Grace sang harmonies, rich with love and delight. They had survived, Sam Dean and Castiel. They were victorious.

Castiel smiled, and kissed back.


End file.
